The Bobby of the Opera
by skyfare
Summary: My tribute to "The Phantom of the Opera," Major Case style.
1. Prologue

**A/N. My homage to The Phantom of the Opera. All the events are taking place in modern times and I'm creating new characters for the Phantom side of it (although most of the new characters will be based off actual Phantom characters, and in some instances where I loved their names too much to change them I kept the original name they had in the Phantom, like Christine). There will be a ton of buried references to PHOTO...just because I can. If, however, you've never seen the show or read the book or heard the story, this still should make sense as a casefile (I hope--also, you really should see the show or read the book or hear the story).**

**I don't own Criminal Intent or The Phantom of the Opera. Will probably be T for language at some point, because, try as I might, my own vocabulary tends to filter into these stories. **

***

_Prologue – A Bright New Year_

The baby was trying to wake up so he sang to her, gently, softly, tenderly, stroking her impossibly smooth head of hair.

This, this is what humanity should be. Innocent. Unvarnished. Quiet, and gentle, and easy. Not people shouting and shoving and judgment and chaos and random moments spliced all together.

But it's safe here, below these floors. This isn't part of the world.

So sleep on, baby.

Ignore the fireworks and gunshots and drunken shouting, for that world does not belong to you.

You're going to _change_ the world.

And Erik's going to change it with you.

***

Anderson took Franklin's hand and they stood back and surveyed their theater as fireworks and squeals went off in the background.

"A new year," Franklin murmured, his voice soft with wonder.

Anderson checked his watch. "We open in…17 hours."

"I'm nervous."

"Don't be. What could go wrong? It'll be fine."

The star of the show, Charlotte, lurched by waving an empty bottle. "'Ere, where'd Jackie go? Said e'd get 'smore voddy, bastard."

"It'll be fine," Anderson said again, feeling Franklin's hand in his starting to sweat. "She has nearly an entire day to sober up before she has to sing."

The theater, glowing so brightly with the lighting they'd spent thousands on, suddenly blanked out into darkness.

"Fine," Anderson whispered unconvincingly. "Maybe…I'll go call the electrician."

And the electrician staggered by after Charlotte, stumbling over his feet in the dirt and falling flat on his face.

"It's…"

"It's beyond imagination, is what it _is_," Franklin muttered. "Come on. Let's go see what damage has been done for tonight."

And they set off.

***

Outside, the raucousness of the new year set in. It woke her up. But the muted sounds from outside echoed in, and the room was suddenly too quiet.

Christine opened her eyes into the darkness and squinted around for the bassinet by her bed. For her baby. For Rachel, who hadn't woken up crying at all this night.

She could hardly keep her eyes open. Hadn't felt like this since giving birth four months ago and dealing with the aftereffects of the epidural, which numbed not only the physical pain but _everything _until she just wanted to sleep, and sleep, and sleep some more.

She waved her fingers in the air until they hit the bassinet.

Eyes growing heavier.

Fingers plunging underneath empty blankets. Rachel should be right _there_, her little breathing body warm under layers of fleece and cotton.

So tired.

Where's _Rachel_?

A curtain rustled, or perhaps a door.

The soft notes of a song.

A pinprick.

And then, nothing.

***

Another stakeout, another New Year's Eve spent working as the ball dropped in Times Square and criminals plotted to assassinate the mayor.

They were huddled together for warmth, hands wrapped around hot chocolate, when the ball dropped.

Another year past of Goren and Eames, of partnership and cases and nothing more.

And everyone around them was kissing the year in, but not them.

Happy New Year.


	2. Chapter One

_Chapter One_

The thought of even attempting the drive back to her house made Eames yawn, so she kicked her shoes off and stripped out of her jacket and staggered up to the crib to grab a couple of hours of sleep before the next threat. Sometimes she gets so tired of cases like that: politicians soliciting murder, double-dipping investment bankers, people killing people for money or pride or revenge. No one believes anything anymore. No one cares. It's all just to get ahead in the game.

No one wants to change the world.

Her partner fell into the bed beside her, muttering under his breath as he landed on the uneven mattress. Asleep within seconds (so unlike him). His breathing whistled out evenly, ghostly steady.

Her partner still wants to change the world.

She closed her eyes, comforted by that thought.

Maybe this year will be different.

Short hours later, Ross banged on the door, then barged in. "Wake up, Detectives. We have a case."

Bobby sat up before she even properly opened her eyes. "What happened?"

"A kidnapping. A four month old baby."

"Jesus." Alex rubbed her eyes and swung her legs out of the bed. "Whose kid?"

"Christine Dareng, the famous opera singer."

Bobby nodded the entire time Ross was speaking, impatient to get to the next words (sometimes Ross speaks so _slooowly_, while his brain is already miles away). "But isn't she up in Maine? For the opening of the Mordeco theater. They're putting on a production of _'The Coldest Seduction_,' and she's playing Kathleen, the sidekick. It was all over the papers."

Ross nodded. "Right, Detective. I know the couple who just bought the theater, and they called me. They're panicking, obviously, because the baby's missing, but also because there was some kind of a note telling them they're not allowed to go to the police."

"_All _ransom notes say you're not allowed to go to the police," Eames pointed out.

"I know. But this isn't exactly a ransom note." He held out a faxed piece of paper.

"_Christine, my love,_" Bobby read out loud. "_These two fools who run my theater do not appreciate your talent, your beauty—your voice. You should be the one playing the lead, playing Francesca, not Charlotte, who croaks like a frog above a C minor. And yet, I cannot fault them entirely. The blame is to be laid on your head as well. You have not been working on your voice as you should, my darling, and yet I cannot say that it is unwarranted. You have been distracted these last few months by your precious Rachel. She is only a baby, and yet in her cooing I hear the sweet snap of a soprano; I hear soaring notes and majestic applause and beauty in her future—if raised properly. It is for the best of the both of you that you are separated, I am afraid. I have taken Rachel to train her properly. To make her feel the music of the night. This way she will get a proper education while you no longer face distraction from your pursuit of the highest notes. Be not worried; I shall take care of her as if she were my own sweetly singing daughter. Listen to me and everything will be fine. If, however, you would try to bring the authorities into this…the consequences will have to be grave. I have my ways, Angel. Policemen can be bought. Family ties called into favor. Lots of things have already been ignored—it is a mechanism, and we are all swept up into it._

_I shall be impatiently waiting these few hours until you are on the stage again. Until there is music and all is right with the world. Think of me, watching you, but do not look for me; I will be in the shadows, in the secret passageways and hidden nooks of my Opera._

_Signed,_

_The Phantom._"

"The _Phantom_," Eames murmured. "Is that what he calls himself?"

Ross nodded grimly. "That's what _everyone _calls him. His real name is Erik. His father designed and helped build the theater, and the gossip is that Erik lives somewhere below it, beyond trap doors and hidden rooms that his father secretly added at the last minute. His father was…powerful, to say the least. Pillar of the community stuff. He had a lot of connections, and the family name still carries influence with the police department. No one there would touch this case if they did know about it."

"So we're going up there," Bobby surmised. "We'll touch it."

"Our flight's in an hour."

"_Our _flight?" Eames asked. "You're coming too, Captain?"

Bobby shifted from foot to foot beside her.

"I figured an extra brain couldn't hurt. Besides…I know them. Franklin will be freaking out, and Anderson will be trying to calm him down while freaking out himself, and they're opening tonight…it's going to be a lot."

"Maine in January," she muttered. "Fantastic."

Bobby grinned at her. "Bring your coats, Eames."

**A/N. The title "The Coldest Seduction" I borrowed from a quote by Marge Piercy--"[Despair is] the worst betrayal, the coldest seduction: to believe at last that the enemy will prevail." Also, the part with Erik's father is not Phantom canon (actually, I don't know what happened to Erik's family. It's been awhile since I read the book. Anyone remember?). **


End file.
